Try Not To Breathe
by Courtney77
Summary: When Puck loses someone close to him he begins to lose himself. Rachel may be the only one to help him through it all. This is loosely based on Six Feet Under.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi folks. It's been a long time since I've written anything creative...as in anything other than political science research papers. I've really only done one full fanfiction before-that being a Degrassi one about four years ago. I'd like to think my writing style has improved since.**

**I've wanted to start a Glee fanfic forever now, but have had trouble figuring out what sort of story to go with. I've read A LOT of very similar stories (Rachel pregnant or raped), and while I'll read them I knew I didn't want to write that.**

**I've really gotten into the series Six Feet Under recently and it somehow inspired this story.**

**Please review and let me know what you think. Also, I should let you know that I am both a student and someone with a full-time job at the moment so if I don't update at a super speed like some people please don't flame me.**

**Oh, and if you would be interested in being my Beta for this story I'd appreciate it. Thanks!**

**Enjoy :)**

Rachel stood at her locker examining her reflection in the mirror she had taped to the inside of the door. She had been spending an embarrassingly large amount of time looking at herself in the mirror recently, quietly wondering why it was that people were still making hurtful comments about her appearance on a daily basis.

Sure, Quinn had toned down quite a bit since she had given birth to and given up Beth; but, she was still Quinn, and had never fully accepted Rachel. Santana still scowled at Rachel whenever she could, making snide comments about her clothing, looks, or personality. Rachel wasn't exactly sure what the latino Cheerio had against her, but she was positive Santana hated something about her. Even if Quinn had stopped teasing her and Santana had eased up slightly, the general population of William McKinley hadn't ceased to try and make her feel absolutely horrible about herself.

She thought that perhaps when the new school year had started and she entered her junior year, things would have gotten better. She had been dating Finn for two and a half months now, and things had been going smoothly. She was happy with the way he treated her, making her feel like she could never do any wrong, treating her like she truly was a star.

Turning away from the mirror and shutting the door to her locker, she was startled to find Finn standing there waiting for her. She jumped, "Finn! You scared me. How is it possible for you to be so impossibly tall and uncoordinated, but still manage to just appear out of nowhere?"

He chuckled, "I like to surprise you."

"Well, mission accomplished," she laughed, hitting him playfully on the chest. "Are you ready for practice?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "although I'm not really sure how I feel about a Britney Spears theme."

Rachel grabbed his arm, wrapping her own arm around his, as they walked towards the choir room. "Yes, Britney was a rather questionable music choice on Mr. Schue's part. However, she has had a large amount of number one singles. Plus, it was either this or another ode to the 1980's and I'm not sure I could stomach another power ballad."

They entered the choir room together, going automatically to the seats they had unofficially claimed as their own. Seated next to them was Mercedes, Quinn, and Kurt whose new friendship was a bit worrisome. Taking up their usually upper corner spot were Brittany and Santana, with Mike and Matt sitting in the seats directly in front of them. The boys seemed to be attempting some sort of beat-boxing, as Brittany bopped along and Santana rolled her eyes unimpressed. Artie and Tina came in last, settling in on the other side of Rachel and Finn.

Rachel couldn't help but notice that everyone was there expect for one set of hazel eyes. "Has anyone seen Noah?"

Finn looked over at her quickly, "Noah?" He asked, raising one eyebrow in question at the name choice.

"Yes," she nodded, confused about his question. "It's Wednesday and I couldn't help but notice that he's missed every practice this week."

It was true, she couldn't have not notice. She and Puck were by no means good friends, but she had started to at least have regular friendly conversations with him since he and Quinn had given up Beth. He and Finn had even reconciled, which made for some informal double dates with her and Finn and Puck and Quinn.

"He misses them all the time," Finn offered casually.

"No he doesn't," Rachel argued. "He's only missed one since school started three weeks ago."

"Someone's keeping tabs," Kurt muttered, looking at Rachel with an amused expression.

Rachel rolled her eyes, "I'm simply stating the facts. As co-captain of glee I happen to notice who is and who isn't present at practice. Surely it hasn't slipped everyone else's attention that Noah has been missing..."

"Cut the Noah crap, RuPaul," Santana snapped from her corner of the room. "It's creepy. He goes by Puck."

"Okay, guys!" Mr. Schuester greeted as he entered the room. "Who's ready for some Britney?"

"I'm not doing anything..." Brittany stated confused, looking at Santana.

"He means Britney Spears, Britt."

"Oh," Brittany sighed, allowing time for it to click in.

"Where's Puck?" Mr. Schuester asked, looking to where Puck usually sat beside Quinn.

"Thank you!" Rachel exclaimed, smiling that someone else had noticed his absence.

"He hasn't called me all week," Quinn admitted.

"That hasn't concerned you?" Kurt asked.

Quinn sighed, "It's Puck we're talking about here, he's not exactly known to be the most reliable guy."

"I disagree," Rachel spoke up. When Quinn glared at her in a way that she hadn't for at least four months, she quickly added, "I mean, he usually at least tells one person if he's going to be away."

"He hasn't called me to play Call of Duty since last Sunday," Finn nodded in agreement.

"Okay," Mr. Schuester interjected, "We'll practice today and then someone can call Puck when we're done."

* * *

Practice lasted an hour, after they had rehearsed both "Stronger" and "Lucky". Rachel couldn't help but think of Puck throughout the entire hour, but she did her best to keep her concerns to herself. She didn't need anymore weird looks from Finn. Although he and Puck had become friends again, Finn was still reluctant to truly trust him; and, having his girlfriend be so worried about his whereabouts may have been a cause for concern.

After practice Rachel bid goodbye to the group and drove off to her part-time job. Since she was fourteen she had been working approximately three evenings a week at her dad's business. She didn't really talk about it much though, as the fact that she spent that much of her time in a funeral home tended to add to her "freak" persona.

She had learned to be fairly comfortable with the idea of death after awhile though and honestly had trouble understanding why it scared people so much. It was going to happen to everyone eventually. Better to accept that it was inevitably going to happen, rather than live in denial. Granted, being to at least five-hundred funerals in her lifetime and seeing her first dead body at the age of five had made her somewhat immune to the dealings of death, grieving, and funerals.

She arrived at the building at around four-thirty, expecting to be there filing and sorting papers until at least seven. Tonight was her night to get caught up on work, as her schedule was often full of after school activities such as glee, dance class, and singing and acting lessons. Her fathers had agreed to pay for these activities as long as she worked at least ten hours a week and kept her grades at an acceptable level. So far she had managed perfectly, Rachel Berry was extremely good at time management.

Entering through the front door and moving towards the back office she ran into her father, Stephen. Stephen was a tall, strong looking, African-American man in his late forties. He was the more serious out of her two fathers, the other being Hiram, a shorter, balding, Jewish man of the same age. While Stephen was the more serious disciplinarian of the two, Hiram was a bit more eccentric, and a bit of 'a drama queen', as his husband stated.

"Hey, Star," Stephen greeted, pecking the top of her head.

"Hi, Dad," she smiled. "How's your day been?"

She could tell by the look on his face that it hadn't been an easy one. He signed, rubbing his shut eyes. "It's been a long one," he admitted. "We got a young girl in today. She was only nine."

Rachel frowned, she knew that as long as her father had been a funeral director and as many funerals as he had done, the ones for children were still incredibly hard for him. "I'm sorry, Dad," she told him sympathetically, leaning in to give him a quick hug. "What happened?"

"She drowned," he told her. "Apparently she wasn't the greatest swimmer and she accidentally floated into the deep end. By the time she was found she had already been in there for at least ten minutes. It was too late to do anything." He massaged his temples and then gave Rachel a quick smile. "Don't worry, Star. It's not the first time I've had to prepare someone this young."

She gave him a tight smile back, "I know, but I know how much it bothers you."

Sighing, he patted her kindly on the shoulder, "Who wouldn't it bother though?" He asked rhetorically. "I've got to go finish stuff up though," he told her. "A family member should be coming within the next hour to sort everything out for the funeral. Victor is away today, so I need you to do the intake. Can you handle it?" He asked kindly.

"Of course, Dad. I've done it before," she nodded, assuring him. Although she honestly wasn't sure how she felt about helping someone plan a funeral for their young relative.

"Thanks," he said, leaning in again to quickly kiss her on the head before heading back downstairs to the preparation room.

* * *

Rachel had been in the back office for about twenty minutes when she heard someone knocking at the front door. Expecting it to be the family member her father had told her about, she got up and smoothed out her dark green plaid skirt and cream coloured cardigan.

She walked to the door and braced herself before opening it up. Before her stood a boy her age, his eyes were rimmed red, as though he had been crying for at least two days. His appearance was disheveled dressed in ripped jeans and a baggy sweater and he has stubble on his face from obviously not shaving.

She could not have prepared herself for this. "Noah?"


	2. Chapter 2

**First off, I want to apologize for how long this chapter has taken to be posted. This is now the obligatory explanation as to why it's taken so long. Honestly, it's just been a hectic and somewhat out of control last few weeks. I've been working full time, been taking online university classes to catch up for the fall, and been having a difficult family time. Those are the personal reasons.**

**Technical reasons: I had finished this chapter the day after I posted the very first one, but then had major computer malfunction and lost the entire thing! It was very frustrating to rewrite.**

**Anyway, enough excuses! It's up now, and I really believe the next one won't take so long. I've got basically every chapter mapped out. Thanks to everyone who has either reviewed or alerted, it definitely means a lot**

To say that Rachel was surprised to see Puck standing in front of her would be a complete understatement. Logically she knew she had to treat him the way that she would treat any other client-professionally, offering her sympathy, but keeping a polite distance. However, knowing Puck, and seeing him stand there looking broken in a way that she had never seen him look before made her want to rush him into a hug, letting him use her shoulder to cry on. Despite wanting to do the latter, she fought the urge, knowing that it wasn't what Puck, or a client needed.

Deciding to try and keep it professional, she moved aside to let him in. He stood staring at her, seeming as though he had no idea what his next move would be.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, seeming rather defensive.

Rachel played with her hands, a habit she had developed when feeling uncomfortable. "My father owns the parlor," she told him. "I'll be assisting you in your preparations today for your..." she faltered, finding it difficult to confront what it was they were both doing, standing at the front entrance of the funeral home.

"My sister," he answered, stone-faced. "It's my younger sister."

Rachel swallowed, trying to keep it together, "Of course," she nodded. "Well, please come in." She led him in, walking towards the back room. "We'll be doing this is our sitting room."

He followed, sitting on the couch she gestured at. He looked around the room, noticing the cold, but professional decor. The seating was antique looking, with dark wood trim. The coffee table that sat between the couch he sat on and the chair Rachel was now sitting in was large, dark, and bare, having on it only a box of tissue and a small blue binder. The walls were a sickeningly pink colour, reminding him uncomfortably of the therapist's office that he had to visit once a week as a child.

Not wanting to examine the room any further, knowing that he was simply trying to delay the inevitable, he dove into his reason for being there. "Where do we start?" He asked, truly having no idea how he was supposed to go about this.

Rachel stirred herself out of her mind, as she had been staring at Noah, trying to figure out what he was thinking, how he was feeling. She cleared her throat, leaning forward to grab the small binder. She opened it, allowing Noah to get a look at the contents. Inside were pages of caskets. "Before anything else," Rachel started, "we should pick out an appropriate casket for you're sister."

"Sarah," he stated quietly. "He name is...was...Sarah."

"For Sarah, then," Rachel corrected. She paused for a minute to again try and examine him. Rather than crying and looking heartbroken like many of the clients who had passed through the doors of her father's business, he looked angry.

He stared at her with intensity, "What?" He asked, frustrated at the way she was looking at him. This was the exact reason why he wanted so badly to avoid everyone he knew in his life. He expected the sympathetic and sad glances, staring at him like he was some sort of victim, as if they had some reason to feel sorry for him. As far as he was concerned, people had no reason to feel any sort of sympathy towards him. If anyone knew what really happened, he thought, they wouldn't want anything to do with him at all.

"Sorry?" Rachel asked, not knowing what she had done incorrectly.

"Don't pity me," he stated, standing up, balling his fists and turning away from her.

"Noah," she whispered quietly, "I'm not pitying you. I just have no idea to act...I have no idea what you're going through."

Turing around quickly, he stared her down, "Exactly!" He exclaimed. "You have no idea what I'm going through. The last thing I need or _deserve _right now is for you to sit there and look at me like you're going to burst out crying at any minute!"

She bit her lip, attempting to hold it all in. All she wanted was to cry. All she wanted was to embrace him and let him know she there here for him. But, she also knew that all _she_ wanted was everything that _he_ didn't want.

Before either one had a chance to say anything else, Rachel's father came up from the basement, no longer wearing his scrubs, and simply sporting his dress pants and crisp blue dress shirt. "Is everything okay?" His eyes glanced at Noah, before looking towards Rachel, his eyes questioning her.

"I don't think I can do this intake," Rachel told him, her voice cracking and giving her away. She walking out of the room, glancing up at Noah before she left.

Composing himself, Puck unclenched his fists. "I really need to plan this today," he told Stephen, looking to him for help.

Stephen nodded, "Of course, please sit down."

* * *

As the two males sat in the other room planning out Sarah's funeral, Rachel sat at her desk crying silently into her arms. She had no idea what she felt. She knew she felt sad at the loss of Puck's young sister, as the death of anyone that young always upset her greatly. She also knew that having it be the sister of someone she knew was making it all the more difficult. She wanted so badly to be able to help him; but, she didn't even know if that was what he needed or wanted.

Puck wasn't the kind of person to seek out comfort or guidance, so she knew that he would most likely to try and deal with everything on his own. Unfortunately, she also knew that, at some point, that would become near impossible.

She sat up, wiping her eyes with a tissue, and straightening out her hair. She glanced at the clock on the wall, telling her that he father and Puck had been in the room for just over half an hour. She figured they'd be done soon, but chose to remain in her spot, not thinking she'd be able to deal with Puck face-to-face at that time.

She began to try and busy herself with the remainder of her paperwork when her father knocked lightly on the door frame, allowing himself in.

"Hey, Star," he greeted quietly. "Are you okay? I should have never asked you to do that intake. I'm so sorry..."

"Dad," she raised her hand to stop him, "It's okay. I just didn't know it would be Noah."

"You know him?" He asked, moving towards her, coming to stand are her side.

She nodded, looking up at him sadly. "We're in Glee together," she told him. "He's Finn's best friend."

"Ohh, Star," he sighed, kneeling down and pulling her into an embrace. "I'm sorry."

* * *

Puck exited the Berry's funeral home having planned his little sister's funeral. He had settled on a small white casket that was lined with pink silk interior. He had asked for the outside to be airbrushed pink as well- it was Sarah's favourite colour. Mr. Berry had agreed; however, he let him know that it would be more expensive to do so. He had assured him that money was no issue, as he had saved a large amount of money from his two summers of pool cleaning and if necessary, he would put it all and more towards giving Sarah everything she deserved.

He kicked the tire of his truck, "Fuck!" What Sarah truly deserved, he thought, was to still be alive. She deserved to be singing loudly in the bath like she always did, as though no one could hear her. She deserved to be bouncing on his bed at eight in the morning on a Saturday. She deserved to grow up and be the most successful out of the two Puckerman offspring. He deserved to be dead.

He didn't think it without meaning it. He knew that Sarah being dead was entirely his own fault. He knew and his mom knew. He thought that if Rachel knew, she wouldn't have looked at him the way she did.

He hadn't meant to do it.

His mom was working a day shift that weekend and wasn't able to get a babysitter for Sarah. So, she had asked him to look after her for the day.

* * *

"_Noah," Leah Puckerman sighed, exasperated. "You need to take care of Sarah today. No arguing."_

"_But, I have to work!" Noah exclaimed. _

"_I'll come with you," Sarah suggested, secretly excited at the prospect of spending the whole day with her older brother._

"_No friggen' way!" He yelled, "Come on, mom! I have to keep some level of professionalism here. I can't be dragging my little sister with me to clean pools."_

_Leah laughed without humour, "Please Noah, we all know you're not just 'cleaning pools', we ladies in town speak, you know."_

_Puck gaffed, uncomfortable that his mother may be onto his sexual exploits with the cougars of Lima. "Fine," he sighed. "Just today though."_

_Sarah smiled, "Can we go to Dairy Queen when we're done?"_

"_Sure," he told her, glaring at his mother as he did so._

_Sarah had followed him to his first pool cleaning of the morning and sat by idly as Puck worked. He had finished, and they moved on to the next house. This time in an affluent area of Lima, a large house, with a big pool, and a very lonely housewife. Puck smirked, approaching the house._

_Mrs. Lang answered the door wearing tiny denim shorts and a tight pink tshirt. "Hello, Noah," she greeted Puck with seductive smile, which came to an abrupt end when she glanced down and saw Sarah with a questioning look on her face. "And who do we have here?" She asked, looking back up to Puck, clearly annoyed._

"_Uh," he started, rubbing the back of his neck, embarrassed._

_Sarah spoke up, "I'm Sarah Puckerman. I'm helping Noah today."_

"_Would you like to go play in the backyard, Sarah?" Mrs. Lang asked. "There is a huge playground out there. My kids hardly ever use it anymore, it could use some use."_

_Sarah smiled largely, "Sure! Noah, do you want to come with me?"_

"_Noah has to help me clean my pipes," Mrs. Lang told her, smiling slyly at Puck._

_Puck smirked, "Yeah, squirt...I've gotta work inside for a bit, but you just stay outside, okay?"_

"_Whatever," Sarah sighed, running around the back to go play on the equipment. _

"_So, the usual?" Puck asked, chuckling._

_The two of them entered the house, taking part in the same 'activities' that they had done many times before. _

_Half an hour later, Puck did up his jeans, throwing on his shoes to go into the backyard to check on Sarah and clean the pool, he grabbed his tshirt that had been hanging on the bedpost. Quite frankly, he was surprised that Sarah has kept herself amused for so long. _

_He looked out the back patio door, glancing at the playground equipment and noticing that Sarah wasn't there. Instinctively he then looked towards the pool, seeing something pink floating on the top. It took a couple seconds to pass before he realized that it was Sarah. "Sarah!" he screamed, forcing the door open and sprinting towards the pool._

"_Noah?" Mrs. Lang called, walking out of the bedroom. "What's the matter?" She came outside just as Puck dove into the pool. "Oh my god..."_

"_Sarah!" Puck cried, pulling her out of the pool, starting to perform the CPR he remembered from when he was in Boy Scouts as a kid. "Come on, kid. You need to breathe!"_

_Mrs. Lang, ran inside to call 911. They came, but by the time they got there it was already much too late._

Puck slumped to the pavement next to his truck after reliving the experience for about the five-hundredth time since it had happened.

It was all his fault.


End file.
